Blades for Days and Guns galore
by Gylfagi
Summary: Two bounty hunters with the same target meet. One is a human with the personality of black powder. The other a gardevoir with the personality of a lit match. See for yourself what happens when they mix. (Rated M for profanities, violence, dark/sexual humor and other fun stuff.)


**Hello dear readers, boys and girls of all ages and their pets. If you read my other story you already know this but a quick word about me. I'm just a guy on the internet who wants to improve his english skills through writing and make you chuckle in the process. So without further ado let's get this started. **

**And I'm not the android owning Pokémon you're looking for.**

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Gone are the days of the Old West. No more heroes on horseback with shiny six-shooters on their hips. Outlaws boasting about the banks they relieved of their money and showing off the notches in the barrels of their single action revolvers at a poker table. Gone are the times where you could decide a disagreement with a duel at high noon. And along these things the profession of the bounty hunter died out.

Well it didn't completely died out. They're still out there, only rarer. In times of police forces protecting dense populated cities and Ranger outposts keeping peace in the countryside, the demand for law abiding citizens, arming themselves and delivering criminals at the doorstep of the next sheriff office, decreased. Usually those who decide to take on lawbreakers by themselves are declared vigilantes and the professionals won't hesitate to drag them infront of a judge for their good deed.

But still, a few bounty hunters and other private investigators are still in demand if they can show a clean record and licenses to prove they're cut out for the job. Even well trained cops and SWAT units wouldn't go out in some woods or wide fields, untouched by civilisation armed with a compass and map to take on poachers, killing animal and pokémon alike. And no commanding officer within the Rangers in their right mind would dispatch a squad of well trained soldiers in an expensive APC or helicopter to arrest some drunk rednecks hunting small pokémon with .22lr guns. If a criminial is too smal or even too big for your institution, you hire a bounty hunter.

Wanted posters adorning the walls of law enforcement offices became a rare sight since everything and everyone started depending on the internet. You want a list of criminals in your area, describing their appearance from height to hair- and eye color? Criminal history, last known location and how much their heads are worth? No problem, it's just a mouse click away. Six-shooters and lever-action rifles forged from iron and furnished in wood also became things of the past. They made way for semi automatic pistols and scary looking black rifles often chambered in 5.56x45mm NATO.

Most of them had a career in military or police forces themselves, dropping out for whatever reason and are now retired or working in nine to five jobs. Some are bored with their new, dull professions compared to the life in uniform they once had. Some are in need for the extra cash to pay for their childrens education. A few even are everyday civilians, just waltzing in a gun store, purchasing the first best AR-15 they see and taking a few shooting classes. Thinking they're Charles Bronson, justifying their murder-boner by claming they do the rightous thing. Some form small teams, even establish whole organisations and branch out to security and bodyguard jobs. But whatever they call themselves, from single private investigator to private military company. They're guns for hire all the same.

For Andrew Seidel however, bringing lawbreakers to justice was a newly found hobby of his. Even though the Hoenn resident grew up around guns and served as a ranger for five years. His working space was the counter and workshop of the armory instead of illegal hunting areas or battlefields in far away regions. After basic training he'd take the first chance he got to become a small arms technician at his base and he was a damn good one. Even at a young age he was obsessed with learning the in and outs of firearms, how they function and what makes them work. Whenever his grandfather, a prized sport shooter took him out to the range, Andrew was more interessted in taking the guns appart and cleaning them. Actually shooting them was only a fun bonus. But grandpa Seidel was a good teacher and so Andrew became a very skilled shooter himself, winning his first 3 gun competition age 19. Some might say a job in the armory is dull and repetetive but it has it's advantages. One being you become every soldiers best friend. You don't want to screw with the guy responsible for the core element of your gear. He came into contact and became friends with people from units all over, infantry, K-9, snipers, you name it. Sometimes on his free days his comerades would take him along for training exercises aside the mandatory few rounds at a target. He would learn different shooting drills like reaction to contact, room clearing and even long range shooting.

After five years however Andrew left the military as Lance Corporal to get on with his life and fulfill his dream and at 26 years old, he made it. After five years of saving his money and a little help from his grandfather in form of a loan he could purchase and open his own gunstore in his hometown, Rustboro City. Complete with workshop and modest apartment on top.

It was here where he first encountered the thrill of dealing with an actual threat. One night a burgler decided to break into his store, probably wanting to arm himself for his future criminal career. Andrew woke up from the noise of a metal tool smashing against the reinforced glass showcases he stored some of his rifles in he intendet to sell. He threw on a pair of black jeans and secured a kydex holster from the nightstand inside his waistband on a belt. From the holster he retrieved his carry gun, a Glock 19 and slightly pulled back the slide, performing a press check to see if a round was chambered and indeed he saw the rim of a 9x19mm Luger cartridge. Pistol in his right and taking a Surefire flashlight with his left hand he moved through his apartment down to the shop area, carefull to not make a sound and checking at every door with his light before entering a room.

When Andrew saw a man in his 40's hitting the gun cabinet over and over with a crowbar, he trained his gun on him, put his index finger on the trigger and clicked the flashlight on permanently.

"Freeze!"

As commanded the man froze in place, but only for a moment. He slowly turned around with his arms up but the crowbar still in his hand.

"Don't move! Drop your weapon!"

The man readyed himself to make a dash and hit Andrew with the crowbar, he put on a cocky smile. "Or what? You gonna shoot me? You don't have the balls to sh-"

**BOOM!**

As the intruder went down he clutched his knee, screaming in agony. Blood was seeping between his fingers.

"AAHRGH My fucking knee! That's my knee! Damn it! SHHHHIT! I can't believe you actually shot me!"

"WHAT!? I can't hear you! FUCK, I knew I forgot something! My ears!"

Andrew was so busy capturing the burglar before he got what he broke in for, he forgot one of the most important characteristics of firearms. They're loud, especially indoors.

_ʼNote to self: Leave some earplugs on the nightstand.ʼ_

Hoping the ringing in his ears would stop soon, he got a pair of zip cuffs he sold among other things from the reinforced glasscounter you see in every pawn shop, jewerelly- and gun store. Still aiming at the downed burglar, Andrew shoved the crowbar away from him with his foot and rolled him on his stomache. After reholstering the Glock, he cuffed the still screaming and cursing man's hands behind his back.

"I'm gonna fuck you up, boy!"

Andrew cupped a hand around his ear.

"Excuse me, what!? You wanna suck me off? You have some nerve comming on to me after trying to rob me. You're not my type, anyway."

Andrew fished a cellphone out of his pocket and called the authorities. He was instructed to put his gun down somwhere save from the attacker but reachable for the incomming officers, he was also told to cooperate with them, so of course he did. After 15 minutes they arrived with an ambulance in tow at the scene and Andrew filled the cops in on what had occurred that night. They congratulated him on his quick thinking and capturing the suspect without leathal force. Apparently his store wasn't the first break in for the guy. He robbed three houses in the neighborhood the month prior and killed an old lady with the same crowbar he intended use on Andrew in the process. As it turns out he indeed wanted to arm himself for a future liquor store robbery he planned, they also found some cocaine on him which explained some of the courage the guy had. The man was wanted for 40.000 Pokédollar and Andrew was free to collect. While the whole experience was upsetting at first and he could've done without ringing ears. There also was another feeling Andrew couldn't ignore, excitement. And if this thrill would also get him big paychecks to help paying back his grandfather, he wasn't against the idea of a few extra jobs on the side.

"Huh, why the hell not? I already got the equipment and training, necessary. All I need are a few licenses on top of the ones I already have. Watch out thiefs, murderers, rapists and all around scumbags…"

After the whole ordeal was done, the former Lance Corporal went to the bathroom to wash his face and taking a look at himself in the mirror. While his time in service never called for the physique of a hardened soldier, the times when his buds dragged him to the gym payed off. He could pay it a visit again, though. A few too soft spots developed on his 5'11 tall body since the last time. Even being in his mid 20's, his once dirty blonde medium length scalp had a few gray streaks through the left side. Tired, blue eyes looked back at him but a smile formed under his full beard none the less.

"… Daddy is gonna capture himself some bad guys."

* * *

**[Three years later] **

One of the perks being a gunsmith is that you get your hands on guns you, under other circumstances, would never get the chance of shooting. Dressed in his working attire consisting of black BDU pants, a pair of combat boots he "lost" during his time in the Rangers and a black and red plaid shirt, Andrew stood at his personal firing range courtesy of Old Brian, a miltank rancher. Andrew took care of an old neighbor and rivaling miltank racher who wanted to get rid of the competition by poisoning some of Brian's miltank. But a nice talk with the man while openly carrying a Smith&Wesson Model 686 not only put a stop to it, he even replaced the killed pokémon. Brian was so greatful he offered Andrew part of his giant property to shoot in the firearms he worked on or just plinking the day away. The ranch wasn't even far, a half hour drive north from Rustboro away. And Andrew was just doing that, shooting magazine after magazine of .45 ACP through a Wilson Combat 1911 Protector a customer gave him to install new sights on and letting the sun shine down on him. He zeroed in the sights hours ago at noon but he couldn't put the pistol down and so he stayed there till 4:45pm. After sending the last round downrange, the gunsmith released the slide and let the hammer drop on an empty chamber before letting a content sigh escape his lips.

"Life is good."

After packing up Andrew put a range bag on the passenger seat and a bag full of spent casings on the bed of his anthracite 1966 Ford F-100. After fully paying back what he owed grandpa Seidel, he could spend the money from his little hobby on something for himself, so he treated himself with a real car instead one of those electric razors people nowadays call cars. On his way home on the Route 115 dirt road he got cut off by another truck, red in color. Andrew slammed the breaks and punched the horn.

"Watch where you driving you fucking waste of oxygen! Your license plate will get called in, douche nozzle."

He stopped his truck and as soon as Andrew wrote the number down, it seemed familiar. He booted up the database of suspects wanted and free for all in his profession and punched the number in the search bar. It got a match and he saw the info it produced.

**Name: Ward, Timothy**

**Date of birth: 7/24/1985**

**Place of birth: Goldenrod City – Jotho**

**Race: Caucasian**

**Height: 5' 8**

**Hair color: Brown**

**Eye color: Green**

**Criminal history: Assault, Domnestic Violence, Smuggling, Poaching**

**Last known location: Rustboro City - Hoenn**

**Wanted for: Poaching and smuggling pokémon in 4 cases. **

**Caution: Armed and dangerous. **

**Reward: 25.000$ Alive**

"Motherfucker!"

Andrew immediately put the pedal to the metal and caught up with his paycheck. When the truck came into view he slowed down, followed him at a distance and drove along the road a few hundered feet as they took a right off the road through some waist high grass. After parking his Ford next to the road the gunsmith by day, bounty hunter by whenever the hell it suites him put on a gray denim jacket to further hide the concealed carry holster of his Glock 19 he had in the 5 o'clock position, grabbed the range bag and flung the strap around his shoulder. He walked back to where the wanted suspect made a turn and followed the trail of broken leaf blades until he spotted the red vehicle parked down a hill. Andrew hid in some shrubbery nearby, set his bag down and inspected it's contents. 1911 and complimentary ammo aside, he packed a black plate carrier with Type III-A soft body armor inside, the MOLLE webbing on the vest was empty aside from a single pouch and the M84 flashbang it held. Furthermore he had not much, only two extra mags for his 9mm and a pair of binoculars which he took out and observed the scene in front of him. He saw two men, one of them matched the description given to him while he assumed the other was a hunting buddy of his, he had short black hair under a green ballcap. Timothy Ward was setting up a tent while his nameless buddy loaded some guns and layed them on a tarp nearby. Andrew identified two scoped bolt-action rifles as Russian WWII era Mosin Nagant and a 12 gauge pump-action shotgun, probably a Remington or Mossberg. When he finished loading up the shotgun he retrieved a crate of beer from the truck's bed. Both were wearing vests with bullet loops, all filled with 7.62x45R ammunition.

"Setting up home base, are we? Looks like a nice Saturday afternoon, criminal energy, alcohol and live firearms mix so well. Guess the hunting season for scumbags is officially open."

Andrew slipped his jacket off and put the plate carrier on. He slipped the two extra magazines in corresponding mag holders on his left hip and checked his sidearm for ammo before throwing his jacket back on and smoothing out any treacherous wrinkles in his attire. Andrew decided to play dumb for now say hello, he could most likely outdraw them and at this distance a pistol wouldn't do him any good. So he leisurely strolled down hill and waved at them with both hands.

"Good afternoon, you two! May I ask you fine gentlemen for a favor?"

Both of them got startled, the guy in the ballcap grabbed the 12 gauge and the two turned towards Andrew.

"What do you want!? We're busy. Hey Timmy, isn't that the guy in the black oldtimer we passed earlier?"

Timothy took a closer look and adressed his friend.

"You're right, Jimbo. What's with the getup? Are you playing commando or something?"

Andrew took two more steps, stopping just a few feet in front of them before answering with a smile.

"It's an anthracite oldtimer and you guys cut me off. Anyway, that's not why I'm here and please don't mind the vest. It's just a little memento from my time in the military."

"Military? WAIT, YOU'RE A RANG-"

Not letting him finish, Andrew drew his gun and shot the ejection port of the shotgun Jimbo was holding. Bending the action so he couldn't cycle it properly, anymore. The former Ranger used this moment to kick Jimbo full force in the groin who immedately let go of the now useless gun and went down screaming. Andrew next trained his sights on the dumbfounded Timothy.

"Lance Corporal to be precise but that's beside the point. There's a bounty on your head, I'm here to collect and you have the right to shut your trap! Now hands to the sky and get on your knees if you don't wanna join your buddy on the ground, Timmy!"

Timothy just stood there with wide eyes. Andrew was about to repeat his order when he felt something pointy on his throat and heard a low but female sounding voice behind him. He tilted his head slightly and saw a tiny stainless fixed blade aiming at his jugular held by a white hand. Andrew turned his head further to see the owner, a white and green slender but slightly muscular figure. It was dressed in a white gown and frowning red eyes were peaking from under a green fringe of hair. A scar ran over it's left eye down it's cheek. In the other hand it held two more knives between it's fingers, matching the one on his throat. Yup. No doubt a gardevoir was threatening him.

'_Awww shit!'_

"Can I help you with something … miss?"

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**Wha oooh who might this mysterious gardevoir be and is she friend or foe? Anyway there you have it. The first chapter to my new story. I just want to say don't expect new chapters too soon. I just wanted to get this one out to see how the premise will be recieved. I wrote this one on my phone and it sucked royaly. I wanna wait till I get a new laptop and write 4 to 5 chapters before posting them semi regularly. And if you remember my other story "You know what?". Missed me? Andrew and T- … I mean some random gardevoir are back, bitches!**

**Till next time. **


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